


one thousand and one mornings (and one eternal day)

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Old Married Couple, Season Finale, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Vignette, married!winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: After the war with Chuck is over, there is a morning. And another, and another. This is what it means to be free.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 31
Kudos: 190
Collections: Forever Wincest Fest





	one thousand and one mornings (and one eternal day)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the folks on discord whose brains I picked about this, and who helped me brainstorm vignettes and parse characterization.  
> This story is an exploration of the undetermined amount of time between the end of 15x19 and the beginning of 15x20 although surprisingly enough it only contains the vaguest spoilers for both.

3

Dean woke before his alarm, and lay in the sleep-warm cocoon of his blankets, listening to the silence of the bunker. Nothing stirred. The walls were solid stone, no beams or floorboards to creak, no mice scuttling behind the baseboards. No sound from the outside world, and not so much as a breath of life inside. Dean’s door was cracked open so the dog could come and go, but there was no scrape of claws on linoleum, no friendly whuffling. It was a silence so heavy and complete that Dean could hear his own heartbeat in his ear against the pillow, echoing like a sea cave. 

Dean felt himself tensing, wide awake with his eyes closed, senses straining for any hint of movement. His fingers itched for the knife he’d kept under his pillow for years - until the safety of the bunker finally broke him of the habit. The empty bunker pressed down around him like a physical weight. His heart hammered. 

Then, distantly, there was the sound of a door opening, Sam’s familiar tread on the stairs, the jingle of Miracle’s collar and the snap of his leash coming off. The shower turned on down the hall with a howl of ancient pipes, and Dean let out a heavy breath, pulling his pillow over his head for another half hour of sleep. 

22

“No toast today?” Dean asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

Sam stirred the hash browns on the stove - the easy kind out of a bag, even though Sam kept saying, _ It’s just potatoes, Dean, we could make them from scratch.  _ “The bread started to mold.” 

“Oh.” Dean looked at the bag on the counter, poked his nose in, wrinkling it at the musty smell. It didn’t look too fuzzy yet, they’d eaten worse a few times as kids, but hey - hash browns. “There were only a couple of slices left anyway.” 

“We’re not going through it as fast as we used to,” Sam said, voice slightly rough. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, after a beat of silence, and tossed the last of bread into the trash. 

41

“Hey Dean?” 

Dean poked his head into Sam’s room, arms full of dirty laundry. The two of them had thoroughly trashed the bed the night before, and the sheets had to be washed a lot more often anyway, now that Miracle slept on the bed. “Yeah?” 

“I think I found us a hunt.” 

“A hunt,” Dean repeated. 

“Yeah. A series of disappearances in Gillette. Bodies all turned up on the same stretch of highway, and the coroner’s report says hypothermia.” 

“In September?” Dean blinked. 

“Yeah. Sounds like our kind of thing, right? Want to check it out?” 

“Uh. Lemme get these in the washer first.” 

Sam shot him an odd look, which was fair, since laundry wasn’t normally Dean’s top priority. Down the hall, Dean shoved the sheets into the machine, and then detoured to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He’d already had one but he needed another. 

“So. A hunt.” 

“Yeah.” Sam was looking up at him, brow furrowed, waiting for more. 

Dean shifted on his feet, and crossed to sit on the edge of Sam’s bed, cradling his hot mug. “You wanna?” 

“Of course I do.” Sam swiveled his desk chair around so their knees bumped. 

“I mean, we could do anything.” Dean cleared his throat. “Now that Chuck’s gone.” 

Sam was using his earnest eyes. “I want to do _ this. _ Don’t you?” 

“I do,” Dean admitted. “You know me. There was never going to be anything but hunting for me. But you, uh. You always wanted so much out of life. Freaking terrified me.” He could admit that, now, using the past tense and with Sam’s knee pressed against his. “Never one to dream small.” 

“Hey.” Sam put his hand on Dean’s leg, palm huge and warm. “This? Isn't small.” 

Dean sucked in a breath, blinking hard. “Yeah, okay,” he choked out. “Good talk. Get your ass in gear, we’ve got ghosts to toast.” 

44

They showered off the grave dirt and got a few hours sleep at the motel. For a late breakfast, they stopped at a familiar diner in Gillette. The vinyl booths and faded wallpaper hadn’t been updated since the 70s. As kids it had often been the last square meal before Sioux Falls, John wanting to push the final seven hours to Bobby’s on gas station food and stubbornness. They’d eaten there often enough to make it feel homey - as much as anything had for the first half of Dean’s life. 

There were familiar places all over the lower 48; favorite beignets in New Orleans; a state park in North Carolina with reliably clean showers; the amusement park outside of Reno with the best waterslide; the truck stop in Colorado that always had hot chocolate as well as coffee; at least a dozen bear-themed diners all over the west. Dean prided himself that he could give directions like a local anywhere in the country. 

“Hey, you remember that Mexican restaurant outside of Albuquerque? With the statue of the pig in the sombrero?” 

“Yeah, of course. You told me that if I licked the pig’s nose it would grant me a wish.” 

Dean grinned. “Oh man, I forgot about that.” The sun was directly in Dean’s eyes as he pulled onto I-90, headed east toward the Black Hills. He flipped down the visor, squinting. “Do we have those Fed shades around someplace still?” 

“I think so.” Sam fumbled in the glove compartment and passed him a pair. “The pig was good but I always liked the cow statue in that creamery in Wisconsin better.”

“Their fried cheese curds were good but that thing was creepy. It’s big cow eyes followed you around the room.” 

“Not nearly as creepy as the carved bear in that one place in Vermont.” 

“Okay, yeah but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a bear, that was a possessed racoon.” 

Sam snickered. “We could write a guide book. Weird wood carvings of American diners.” They passed the road sign for Sundance, roaring toward home. 

73

Dean woke up with his back freezing, his front sticky with sweat where it was pressed against Sam’s shoulder, and one leg honest-to-god hanging off the side of the bed. He groaned and shoved at Sam, who was starfished out over almost the entirety of the double bed. “This is why we don’t share a bed,” Dean grumbled, yanking at the sheets. “Gimme some of those, you hog.” The insides of his thighs itched with dried come. 

“We could buy a bigger mattress,” Sam mumbled, rolling onto one side to let Dean slide closer to the center of the bed. 

Dean stifled a yawn, reshaping his pillow with a fist and resettling himself. “Maybe.” There was a comfortable two inches between them now, close enough to radiate warmth, but not unpleasantly sweaty. Sam’s breathing was deep and even, one of the oldest comforts Dean remembered. Closing his eyes, Dean drifted back down into sleep. 

Sam’s 6:30 alarm went off shrilly. 

“God _ dammit, _ Sam.” 

97

“You want more coffee?” 

“Mm?” 

“I said, do you want more coffee?” Sam repeated. 

Dean blinked and dragged his eyes up from the names carved into the library table. He’d been zoned out for so long that the screensaver was up on his laptop. “Huh? Uh, sure. Thanks.” 

Sam’s face softened, but he just nodded and picked up Dean’s empty cup.

129

“You want more coffee?” 

Dean pushed his cup toward the edge of the table. “That’d be great, thanks sweetheart.” 

The waitress was wearing a faded Janice Joplin tee-shirt and a studded belt under her apron. She raised her eyebrows at “sweetheart” and Dean shot her an extra special smile as she topped up their mugs. “How are the breakfast tacos?” 

“Good, thanks,” Sam said, giving her a professional smile of his own and reaching for Dean’s hand again. “Let me see that.” 

“I  _ said, _ it’s fine.” Dean pulled his hand back out of Sam’s reach. “Actually, can I get some more guac? Thanks.” 

The waitress moved off, and Sam sighed. “Here, have mine.” He pushed the little paper cup of guacamole across the table. 

“Hey, thank-”

“Ah-ha!” Sam grabbed his wrist as Dean reached for the guacamole. 

“Hey!” Dean tried to kick him under the table but Sam was expecting that, and just trapped Dean’s ankle between his long legs as he turned Dean’s palm over, examining the half-healed slice. 

“It’s a little swollen. Have you been using the antibiotic ointment?” 

“Yes,” Dean sighed. “It’s just irritated because I spent all night using a shovel.” 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “You should have said something.” 

“I didn’t say anything because it’s  _ fine.”  _

“When was the last time you got a tetanus shot?” 

“Uhh, I think after that thing with the barbed wire outside Louisville? The little rural hospital, remember, where they hadn’t digitized their insurance records yet? That was before Bobby died, so it must have been… seven, eight years ago? How long are they good for?” 

“A decade.” Sam sat back in the booth, slightly mollified, fingers still resting on Dean’s wrist. 

The waitress returned with an extra cup of guacamole, and she smiled down at their hands. “How long have you two been together?” 

Sam sighed. “Forever.” 

“Try looking happier about that, bitch,” Dean muttered after the waitress walked away. 

“Jerk,” Sam said, but he was smiling. 

178

The ghost of the little girl shrieked and went up in flames as Sam burned the lock of her hair. Smoke and attic dust swirled in the air, and Sam sneezed. “Let’s get out of here.” 

The sky was already lightening with the gray before dawn. It had taken them ages to find the girl’s baby book among the boxes in the attic, while the spirit had wailed and thrown things at them. They loaded the trunk in silence. 

“What is it?” Sam asked finally, as they slid into the front seat together. 

“Nothing.” Dean turned the key in the ignition and Baby grumbled to life. “I guess I thought maybe... with Jack at the wheel… he got rid of all the angel and demon stuff and I sort of wonder why he didn’t…” He waved a hand vaguely. “Clean up the rest of it. He knows what’s out there.” 

“I think he knows everything now, Dean.” 

“Shut up, you know what I mean. Like I said, it’s nothing.” He turned right on red and pointed them in the direction of the interstate. 

Sam hummed thoughtfully. “I mean, people still hurt each other in normal ways every day. I suppose the supernatural world is the same. Still a mix of good and bad.” 

“Kinda takes us back to square one, theologically,” Dean said. “Why do bad things happen to good people.” 

“The paradox of evil,” Sam agreed. 

“I’m just saying, Jack’s a good kid, and if he’s powerful enough to fix what Chuck broke, why didn’t he fix… all of it?” 

“Maybe it doesn't...work that way.”

“Oh, brilliant, Einstein. You've cracked the problem that’s stumped centuries of philosophers.” 

“No I just mean... well, we've seen what happens when we try to fix things, and when supernatural powers try to create perfect worlds. There’s always a price tag. Maybe this is just... the way it is. Balance or conservation of energy or entropy, whatever.” 

“It is too goddamned late for this,” Dean groaned. “Early for this, whatever. Forget I said anything.” 

202

“Is that…” 

“Dean,” Sam began warningly. 

“Is that… it  _ is. _ Sam, Sam, Sam,” Dean shook his head. “I knew you were a girl, I didn’t know that you were a soccer mom.” 

Sam gritted his teeth. “Dean.” 

“What’s next? Rose gardening? Handmade quilts? Baking? You know what this means, Sammy...”

“You making tasteless jokes for the next week?” Sam sighed. 

“Tasteless? Me? Never. No, Sam.” Dean’s grin widened. “You’ve got a yoga mat, and that means I get to  _ watch.”  _

260

“Barry Manilow… ABBA… Leonard Cohen… where did all these even come from? The men of letters didn’t have cassettes.” 

“Dunno.” Dean put his coffee cup on the table. “We’ve had a lot of people in and out over the years. What are you looking for?” 

“Jody gave me some stuff from Bobby’s ages ago, and there were some taped research notes I never finished listening to. I thought I left them by the stereo. John Denver, what the hell? Oh, this one’s yours.” 

Sam waved a tape in his direction, and Dean leaned over to snag it out of his hand. He glanced down at the handwritten label and stilled. “Oh.” 

Sam looked up at his tone of voice. “What?” 

“It’s not mine, it’s Cas’s,” Dean said, turning the tape over. 

“You made him a Zeppelin mix tape?” Sam’s mouth quirked up. “That’s… kinda romantic, dude.” 

Dean winced, and covered it by reaching for his coffee. “Whatever. He wasn’t going to learn about good music from  _ you.”  _

He must not have done a good enough job deflecting because Sam frowned, and kept glancing over as he sorted through the rest of the jumble of tapes beside the stereo. Dean curled his hands around his coffee cup, waiting for it to cool and staring at nothing. 

Eventually, Sam finished stacking the tapes neatly and came over to the table. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. I just. Yeah.” Dean shook himself. “It’s stupid, you know? I’ve known since I was four years old that life isn’t fair - hell, I must have said it to you a hundred times.” 

“Try a thousand,” Sam said wryly. “That was pretty much the party line when I was a teenager.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. So it’s stupid, it’s just…” Dean rubbed his fingers across his mouth. “It sucks.” 

Sam rested his hip on the table beside Dean’s chair. “I guess we make our peace with it. Or die trying.” 

Dean grimaced. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

Sam cocked his head to one side. Dean had never filled in the details of Cas's death, and he wasn’t about to start now, even though he knew Sam was curious. Instead, he slapped the table and made a feeble attempt at a subject change. “Come on, Sammy. Tell me what you found on those tapes, huh?” 

Sam sighed, but allowed the redirection. 

317

Dean shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Something smells good.” 

Sam ducked his head in the sheepish way that could indicate anything from “embarrassed about breaking a nice plate” to “embarrassed about dabbling in dark magic.” Dean wondered if he was going to have to do damage control before coffee. 

“Um. I made muffins,” Sam said. 

“Muffins?” Dean blinked, and looked at the worktop where an explosion of flour dust and used measuring cups were scattered around a large mixing bowl, not unlike the aftermath of a spell gone wrong. 

“Yeah.” The timer above the oven buzzed, and Sam grabbed an oven mitt. The muffins came out steaming and golden on top. Dean was already grinning. 

“Aw, Sammy, you baking for me? Next thing I know you’re gonna be barefoot and pregnant.” Dean crowded up against his brother, ignoring Sam’s scowling and blushing, bare toes touching. “Hey, two out of three’s not bad. And we can work on that third one.” 

The muffins were cold by the time Dean tried them, later that morning. They needed a little more salt, but Dean ate four. He’d worked up an appetite.

365 

Dean got up at 8, brushed his teeth and fed Miracle. Sam made eggs and toast. They ate breakfast without exchanging more than a dozen words. Sam put forkfuls of eggs in his mouth mechanically, staring at nothing. Dean drank two cups of coffee and thought about the whiskey in the cabinet.

“It’s been-” Sam started. 

“Yeah. I know.” Dean poured himself another cup of coffee, black. 

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” 

412

“I have one friend who’s really into Zumba, but I’ve got two left feet. I know they say it’s not real dancing and anyone can do it, but you ever notice the only people who say that stuff are the ones who  _ can  _ actually dance?” 

Dean made a noncommittal noise, phone clamped against his shoulder as he rinsed the dishes. 

“I tried the hot yoga thing, but,  _ whew _ , really not for me. I don’t know, I get enough sweating around strangers on the job, you know?” Donna chattered on in his ear. “So then I thought maybe a cycling class, but it doesn’t make sense to get a gym membership for just one thing, and I figured hey, you can cycle without the gym, the old fashioned way. So I bought a bike on Craigslist and I’ve been really enjoying it! It’s so refreshing to have the wind in my hair, and when you’re going down hill you can just coast and it’s hardly exercise at all. You should try it, Dean.” 

“Me, on a bike? Without an engine?” Dean scoffed.

“It would do you good to have some regular exercise.” 

“Now you sound like Sam.” 

“A sedentary lifestyle will kill you, Dean,” Donna said sternly. 

Dean snorted. “I should be so lucky.” He put the last plate in the dish rack and dried his hands on the dish towel. “Was this what you called to talk about?” 

“Gosh, no, sorry I got so sidetracked! No, I called because a deputy in Duluth went mute after responding to a 911 call for a domestic dispute. Wanted to see what you thought.” 

“Sam’s busy, so you’re stuck with me, but I’ll see what I can dig up.” Dean tossed the towel into the sink. He switched the phone to the other ear, rolling his stiff shoulder. “Tell me more about this deputy. Did you sweep the scene for hex bags?” 

476

“You, me, mancave, now.” 

Sam looked up from the heavy book he had open on the library table, brow furrowed. “You want to put on a movie? It’s 10 in the morning.” 

“What, there’s some kind of law against that now? You’ve been looking for that incantation for three days straight, even though Jody told you she found a workaround.” 

“It’s just an academic curiosity,” Sam said. 

“Right, that’s what I’m worried about. Come on, brainiac, we’re gonna make popcorn and watch shit get blown up. Fast and Furious is on Netflix.” 

Sam sighed, but allowed himself to be drawn away from his research. “Can we at least have real popcorn?” 

“If you don’t want it out of a bag, you’re gonna have to make it yourself.” 

“Fine,” Sam sighed. “You get the movie pulled up.” 

“Ten-four, Sammy.” In the den, Dean grabbed the remote and flopped back on the couch, flipping through channels. Gone were the days of fiddling with a pair of rabbit ears to pick up snowy cable from the upstairs neighbor. He paused on a Kansas State v Baylor game long enough to watch the Wildcats fumble an easy pass, and then hit the Netflix button with a sigh. 

Netflix pulled up the “Who’s watching” screen, showing four icons in primary colors labeled Sam, Batman, Cas, and Kiddo. 

Dean paused, thumb on the select button. The screen glowed gently in the dark room. The bunker was quiet. 

“Popcorn,” Sam announced, appearing in the doorway with Miracle on his heels.

Dean started. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

“You okay?” Sam asked, setting the popcorn down on the end table and nudging Miracle away from it. 

“Yeah. Yeah, course.” Dean hit select and pulled up the home screen. “Fast and Furious, here we come.” 

511

Sam looked down at the loaded grocery cart and sighed. “I should know better by now than to take you grocery shopping when you’re hungry.” 

“I had breakfast,” Dean said, eyeing the ice cream in the freezer aisle. 

“A Starbucks muffin does not count as breakfast. And neither does ice cream.” 

“Man, that is not what you would have said at thirteen. Where did I go wrong with you?” Dean snagged a container of Cherry Garcia and let the freezer door swing shut. “Anyway, if you’d remembered we were out of food, we could have stopped at the store before we got home last night.” 

“We were covered in ghoul guts,” Sam said, pushing the cart down the aisle. “Come on, I’m starving. I think we’ve got everything we need.” 

“Hash browns?” Dean asked, pausing in front of the frozen meals and vegetables. 

Sam leaned past him to grab a bag of frozen spinach. 

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Dude, gross. At least get the real stuff, it’s all slimy when it’s frozen.” 

“Whenever we get a bunch of fresh spinach it goes bad before we finish it, and  _ then  _ it’s slimy.” 

“I’m the one who cooks with it, and I say fresh is better.” 

“Well, I’m the one who cleans out the fridge,” Sam said, lips pursed. “So the next time you do that, you can buy whatever spinach you want.” 

“Okay, okay.” Dean grabbed some frozen hash browns and pushed the cart toward the register. “Let’s get you home and feed you, grumpy.” 

591

Above the eastern horizon, banners of peach and violet streaked the sky. It was an old cemetery, the church long since abandoned and the road overgrown and potholed. No security cameras or city police on the lookout for kids getting high. 

Dean yawned and leaned on his shovel. In the open grave at their feet, the blazing bones were beginning to burn low, smoldering into hot ash. “Someday we’re gonna be too old to spend all night digging up a grave.” 

Sam stretched, rolling his shoulders. “We could rent an excavator. Like Rufus and Bobby used to do, remember?” 

“Oh yeah, that’d go down well. Yes, hello local equipment rental, we’d like your 6 ton excavator delivered to the cemetery at dusk.” 

Sam snorted, leaning back against the worn headstone, shoulder pressed against Dean’s. They were both warm from digging, flannels stripped off. Sam smelled like sweat and grave smoke. Smelled like home. The dawn chorus was twittering and screeching in the bushes growing out of the roof of the old parsonage. “We should get going,” Sam said eventually. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, and didn’t move. 

630

“I think the washing machine is broken,” Sam said. “The drum is making this terrible noise like something’s loose when it spins. We should haul it out, take it to that appliance shop where we got the dishwasher replaced.”

“Nah, don’t bother, I can fix it.” 

Sam frowned. “Really?” 

“Yeah, it’s got a motor, doesn’t it?” Dean glared at his brother.

“A motor, not an engine, Dean.” 

Dean flapped his hand. “Details. It’s got moving parts. I’ll figure it out.” 

“Famous last words,” Sam muttered. 

636

“Dean, I need to do laundry and the washing machine is still disassembled.” 

Dean looked up at his brother’s bitchface - you’d think he might have mellowed with age, but the lines on his face actually made the expression stronger with time, like a stinky cheese. Dean had to duck his head back under the Impala’s hood so Sam didn’t see him laugh. Not that Dean had anything against pissing off his brother by laughing in his face, but he was idly hoping to get laid after lunch and it didn’t hurt to guard his chances. “Yeah, sorry,” he grunted. “Meant to get to that and then Baby’s belts started squeaking.” 

“Well, I have no clean underwear left.” 

Dean dropped his gaze to his brother’s running shorts. “Does that mean you’re commando under there?” 

642

“I am going to shave it all off,” Dean grumbled, swiping water off his face with the back of his arm. “I swear to god. The amount of hair in the drain? And also, do you have any idea how much we spend on your freaking special shampoo?” 

Miracle gave him a doggy grin, tongue lolling out, and then shook vigorously, sending soap suds everywhere. 

“Goddammit!” 

649

“Dean, I thought you fixed the washing machine?” Sam called. 

Dean lifted his head from the pile of papers he was digging through. He knew he had Jody’s new mailing address in here somewhere, and there was a box of consecrated rounds and a new meatloaf recipe just waiting to get taken to the post office as soon as he found it. “I did.” 

“It’s still making a noise,” Sam complained. 

“Just kick it!” 

There was a thunk, and Sam said, “Huh.” Rolling his eyes, Dean looked back at the desk. 

740

The clock on the bedside table read 5:43 as they staggered through the door of the motel room. Dean flopped onto the king bed. “Ugh, I think I twisted my ankle.” 

“On what? We didn’t even run from anything.” 

“The boards on the porch were totally rotted! I put my foot right through one of them.” 

Sam sniggered, tossing the bag of weapons onto the small table. “Getting feeble in your old age, grandpa?” 

“Fuck off and get me some ice, bitch.” 

“You could always retire. Go the Obi-wan route, imparting wisdom to the younger generation, leave the dirty work to the more capable.” Sam scooped up the ice bucket from beside the sink. 

“More capable,” Dean snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’ll still be a better hunter than you even when I need a walker to get around. Or one of those motorized chairs. That might be cool. Think you could put all-terrain wheels on one of those babies?” Sam rolled his eyes and opened the door. “Hey, get me a Snickers while you’re out there.” 

801

“No more, Sam! No more.” Dean bent double, hands on his knees, wheezing a little harder than necessary for theatrical effect. Still, it totally wasn’t fair that Sam barely looked winded, pink-cheeked and chest heaving under his running jacket. 

Sam rolled his eyes, jogging in place like a dork. “You were the one who wanted to bet on Jeopardy reruns.” 

“Temporary insanity.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam grinned. 

Dean sighed and straightened, rubbing at the stitch between his ribs. “I can’t believe people do this for fun. On the weekend, too.” 

“We’ve still got another mile and a quarter.” 

“Just… gimme a minute. Stretch break. That’s a thing, right?” There was a little park opposite Lebanon’s Episcopal church. Sam ambled over to a bench and started doing quad stretches. Dean rubbed sweat out of his eyes and took a swig from his water bottle. 

The Sunday morning service was ending, piano chords and choral voices drifting out of the open doors, propped open optimistically in the chilly autumn sun. “Hey, you ever think about…” he began, mouth running ahead of his filter.

“About what?” Sam asked, but his eyes were already swinging to the church. “Yeah, sometimes.” 

“You think he’s okay?” Sam was silent long enough that Dean fumbled for more words. “I mean, being… all-seeing or whatever, one with the universe, it’s gotta be rough sometimes, don’t you think? There’s a lot of bad stuff out there and when you get right down to it, he’s just a kid. I mean, maybe not  _ just  _ a kid, but…you know what I mean.”

The service was over, people spilling out of the doors. The pastor stood at the top of the steps, shaking hands and hugging congregants as they passed. A couple of kids ran past toward the swingset, shiny Sunday shoes squelching in the damp grass. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Sam said. “But I think Jack’s okay.” 

894

“Huh. That’s...” 

Dean looked up sharply at his brother’s tone - Sam sounded watery, a little choked up. Adrenaline instantly kicked Dean’s heartrate up. “What?” 

Sam swiveled his laptop and pushed it across the table. It was open to his email and Dean squinted at the small print. Sam, who’d been nagging Dean about reading glasses for months now, rolled his eyes, so nothing could be too wrong. Dean thumbed the ctrl + buttons to enlarge the screen. It was an email from Jody. 

_ Hi boys, hope you both are doing well.  _

_ A little bit of exciting news. Claire is going to finish her AA degree this semester. There’s a ceremony in June but she says she’s not going. We’ll have a little family dinner to celebrate instead, and we’d love to see you. _

_ The girls send their love. Hugs, Jody _

“Huh.” Dean sat back, looking up at Sam. “Well, that’s…” 

Sam’s eyes were shining. “Yeah.” 

Dean nudged his foot against his brother’s under the table, corner of his mouth curling up. “Yeah.” 

942

The bell over the door to Lebanon’s only diner jingled. Daisy waved at him from behind the register, and Mike Mulligan, sitting at the bar, nodded in greeting. “Morning, Campbell.” 

“Mulligan,” Dean nodded back. 

Mike patted the stool at the counter beside him. “How’s that ‘72 Chevelle going?” 

“Beautiful. I’m waiting on some vacuum hoses, but I’ve got most of the transmission rebuilt. I even found an original gearshift indicator for the Turbo 4 model - some guy on eBay.” 

Daisy brought over the coffee pot. “Morning, Dean. The usual?” 

“Yeah, thanks Daze.”

“Amazing what you can find online nowadays,” Mike said, sipping his own coffee. 

“Tell me about it. My uncle used to spend hours on the phone tracking down one little part like this. Hey, I’ve got pictures, want to see?” 

“Hell yeah.” That was something Dean appreciated about Mike - he was a man who was genuine about loving cars. He made appropriately appreciative noises over the Chevelle’s rebuilt transmission, and then said, “You know, Billy Snider is going to be retiring at the end of the year.” 

“Bill Snider.” Dean frowned, trying to place the name. 

“Teaches auto shop at the high school.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. You should think about applying for next year.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you need a special degree for that? I don’t think they let guys who barely got a GED teach high schoolers.” 

“Nah, not to do the trade school stuff. My brother down in Cawker City, he retired as a master carpenter and teaches woodshop now. Got some sort of certification online for the red tape at the school.” Mike tossed a couple of bills down by his empty coffee cup and waved to Daisy that he was heading out. “Anyway. Just think about it.” 

973

“Motherfucker,” Dean muttered. A tendon in his neck was stabbing pain up into the base of his skull, and his lower back twinged when he even thought about moving. His left arm was completely numb where Sam’s head was resting on his artery, and his right arm was jammed against the back of the couch. His teeth had the distinct fuzziness of falling asleep without brushing. On the TV, a too-chipper anchor was discussing the morning news, thankfully muted. Dean flailed at his brother, or tried to. He couldn’t feel his arm. 

“Whazzit?” Sam mumbled. He’d drooled on Dean’s shirt. “Euugh,” he added, waking up further. “Oh god, we slept on the couch?” 

“Get off me, you weigh a ton.” 

Sam sat up unsteadily, rubbing his eyes. “Jesus, my neck hurts.” 

“Your neck?” Dean moved gingerly. “Try my back, Christ. And you weren’t the one getting squished all night long.” 

Sam twisted his neck to each side, grimacing. “When I was twenty five I could get thrown into a wall and not feel as bad as this.” 

“I got thrown into a wall  _ last month _ and it didn’t feel as bad as this.” Dean’s head throbbed when he turned wrong. There were a couple of beer bottles on the table along with the empty popcorn bowl, but not enough to justify the headache. It was just a muscle ache from sleeping wrong. There was a time Dean could spend the night curled up in Baby’s backseat with his head propped against the door, and wake up fresh as a daisy. Nowadays, the memory foam’s spinal alignment properties were more a necessity than a luxury. “Yeow, Jesus fuck.” Pins and needles were arriving in his left arm with a vengeance. Dean shook his hand vigorously, teeth clenched. “Get me some coffee, bitch. And an aspirin.” 

1000

Down the hall there was a loud clatter and splash, accompanied by Sam swearing loudly and Miracle barking. Dean grinned and rolled over in bed. His brother came stomping down the hall. “The bucket over the door? Seriously?” 

“C’mon, it’s a classic.” Dean grinned at him. “Not quite as classic as pie in the face, I’ll grant you.” 

Sam stripped off his soaked shirt and hurled it at Dean. It hit his upraised arm with a wet thwack. Miracle barked again, and jumped on the bed, wanting to play. “You’re mopping up the floor,” Sam said.

1001 

“Got anything?” Dean asked, setting a cup of coffee on the table beside his brother. 

“I think so. Unusual home invasion in central Ohio. Two children kidnapped, both parents dead. One victim mysteriously drained of blood.” 

Dean snapped his fingers. “Hell yes. It’s been too long since I decapitated something.” 

+1 

The air shifted. In front of him, the wooded slopes and dramatic, green gorges of heaven stretched away, gold in the afternoon light, and behind him... 

Dean took a breath. “Heya, Sammy.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! [Reblog on tumblr HERE.](https://nevergettingoverwincest.tumblr.com/post/636436361673637888/one-thousand-and-one-mornings-and-one-eternal)


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